


What Happens in Atlantic City, Stays in Atlantic City

by rosa_himmelblau



Category: Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:46:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Why is Sonny keeping a secret notebook?





	

"Who's Terry Benedict?" Vinnie asked, and was amazed to see Sonny blush. He wasn't amazed that Sonny didn't answer him, but he was annoyed, so he asked again. "Who's Terry Benedict?"

"Who?" Sonny was giving him his most deliberately bland look—or he was trying to, anyway. Vinnie had seen Sonny kill a guy and look more composed than he did right now.

"You were writing something about some broad named Terry Benedict," Vinnie said, very slowly. "I just wondered who she was."

Sonny's composure returned, on a tide of relief. "Yeah, she's nobody. Don't worry about her."

"OK," Vinnie agreed agreeably.

 

He knew perfectly well who Terry Benedict was. He'd seen the _Ocean's_ movies with Sonny, after all, and he'd read enough in the notebook he'd come across to know that Terry wasn't a woman anyway. Terry Benedict was the guy Andy Garcia had played in those movies. But Sonny's reaction made Vinnie back off, let him think he was safe, that Vinnie didn't know anything.

 

Sonny was more suspicious for the next week or so, he was much more careful; Vinnie never saw him with his notebook, and it wasn't hidden in the same place Vinnie had found it the first time. Then he started feeling more secure, and Vinnie ignored him when he sat writing in the notebook, and he pretended to ignore him when he put the notebook away, and he waited until Sonny was out for the afternoon before he got it out and read it.

Vinnie was no literary critic, but the first thing he realized was that Sonny was no writer. Not that that was a surprise; what **would** have been surprising would have been Sonny having a heretofore undiscovered way with words. But he really, really didn't.

The next discovery was that Sonny was—Sonny was—

Sonny was writing fan fiction.

That was freaking **disturbing.** Sonny was writing fan fiction about the _Ocean's_ movies. What was even more disturbing was when it became painfully, embarrassingly obvious that Sonny thought he was Terry Benedict.

Well, it kind of made sense, kind of, in a totally fucked-up way. Terry Benedict owned a bunch of casinos in Vegas, right? If there was somebody Sonny was going to think he was, Terry Benedict made sense, he was a good fit. It was weird, but it was weird in a reasonable way.

It got even weirder, though, because apparently in Sonny's head, Terry Benedict was boffing George Clooney.

Well, really Danny Ocean, George Clooney's character. Apparently in Sonny's mind—Sonny's deranged mind—after the third movie, Tess died in a tragic accident of some kind (that's exactly what it said in the story: _Tess died in a tragic accident of some kind_ ) and Terry and Danny became the best of friends, absolutely inseparable. Danny gave up being a criminal to become Terry's driver—Vinnie was George Clooney, which, well, he wouldn't have argued with that.

First they spent a lot of time picking up girls together. Vinnie skipped over most of that because Sonny's heart didn't seem to be in it, and it was really boring. And then one day, right out of a clear blue sky, Danny tells Terry, in prose that would make a Hallmark writer blush, that he's been in love with him all this time, and he only hopes that Terry—

At that point the whole story changed to the most amazingly detailed gay porn. And Vinnie found himself laughing less and wondering just when Sonny was going to come home. He was impressed by Sonny's imagination, if not his writing style. Terry Benedict and Danny Ocean did everything two guys could possibly do together—not to mention a few things Vinnie was pretty sure **weren't** possible. 

There was more; there were actually three notebooks, and Vinnie knew he didn't have time to read all of them, especially with all the time he'd wasted laughing 'til his stomach hurt and tears ran down his face. But he did skim the rest. Terry Benedict married someone Vinnie figured was the character Catherine Zeta-Jones had played, since Vinnie knew Sonny thought she was a lot hotter than the late Tess. They moved someplace—Vinnie didn't get where—and Danny was either promoted or demoted, it was hard to tell which—to pool boy, mostly he wouldn't be required to wear so many clothes. Terry was always buying him clothes and taking them off him. "Where have I heard of somebody doing **that**?" Vinnie asked himself, which only started the laughing again.

Catherine Zeta-Jones didn't seem to mind about this at all, nor did she seem to have any objections to sometimes being one of the pieces of bread when Danny and Terry played sandwich. Terry, of course, was always the meat.

Vinnie wanted to wait until Sonny came home and ask him about his literary aspirations, but he couldn't even **think** about talking to him without laughing, and that would be a very bad thing. Nobody— **nobody** knew how crazy Sonny really was. Nobody but Vinnie.

**Author's Note:**

> [Killa is evil.
> 
> Just in case you didn't know, I have written proof. She asked this question in her LJ about what would your favorite character write if they wrote fanfic, and she broke my brain! Twice! She did, because when I said that, that she'd broken my brain by making me think about Sonny writing fanfic, she actually suggested what he'd write!
> 
> So I wrote it.
> 
> (Also, if you're interested, in my mind, when I was writing the Clandestine Reports, Starsky always saw himself writing fanfic.)]


End file.
